Game Set Match
by OnTheWildside
Summary: The ultimate story of revenge. Two worthy opponents face-off in the rural desert of Cainville Utah. Lot's of unexpected surprises, plenty of gratuitous violence, and some shameless Mac smut.
1. Welcome to Bumfuck Nowhere

**The intent here was another one-shot that was supposed to be posted last Whiskey Wednesday. As I got to writing this, though, I couldn't help but realize it couldn't end where I wanted it, it had to be a multi-chapter fic, so my mind ran with it. **

**As with all my stories, I'm writing this on the fly. I'm not sure of much, but I can very well guarantee that Mac will not be romanticized in anyway. I'd like to keep him true to character as much as possible, so bear that in mind. **

**Of course, this being a Mac fic, the story will include graphic language, sexual content, rape, physical and mental abuse, and various other graphic material including BDSM. That being said, if you are reading this, you're probably okay with that because you know Mac. If not, I suggest you head away from the canyons slowly and cautiously. Mac may be lurking. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Revenge proves its own executioner."  
― John Ford, _The Broken Heart_**  
**

* * *

The SUV tumbled down the highway at a hundred miles an hour, barreling its way into Utah. At the welcome sign, stating that she had indeed crossed the border into the barren state, she pulled over into the shoulder of the road. She imagined she probably didn't have to veer off. She had been the only car for miles, at least for the last hour.

She waited a few minutes before popping the hood. She leaned over the warm engine, lifting the pressure valve on the radiator cap. When no steam escaped, she twisted the cap off, covering her hand in an old rag before doing so. Once in her palm, she pulled a small pocket knife out and began slowly fraying the rubber seal on the cap until not much was left of it.

"That oughta do it." She muttered to herself as she examined her handiwork. She put the cap back in place, sealing it loosely and getting back into her vehicle, twisting the key in the ignition and heading back down the deserted highway.

About thirty miles later, the SUV was definitely lagging. She watched in delight as the hear gauge in the front console slowly, but steadily, rose until the engine began to knock, just outside of the city limits of Cainville.

She was amazed at how perfectly she had timed it. She chugged the car off the exit and right into town, finding a small oasis in the middle of this desert. Conveniently right off the exit she spotted a large white sign. "The Luna Mesa Oasis." There stood a motel, a gas station, what looked like a bar called the Luna Mesa, and, as luck would have it, a small garage.

The knocking the over-heating engine was producing caused a few stares, but she either didn't notice, or didn't care. She stopped just outside of the auto shop before the engine gave out and the car shut off.

The man at the shop looked up from under the hood of the car he seemed to be working on, grabbing a red rag from his back pocket and wiping off his hands as he sauntered over to her tiny frame, just managing to pop the hood and pull herself from the car.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" His voice was slimy, yet sultry. She caught a glimpse of his teeth, or rather his lack thereof. Under the sheen of sweat, dirt, and grease she could see a series of tiny scabs down his neck. He was wearing dark blue coveralls that shielded most of his body, but she was fairly certain he would have them all over.

"I don't know what happened. It just started over heating." She said, feigning innocence. Even she had to hand it to herself, she was a fabulous actress.

The first thing he did was lean over the engine and pop the radiator cap, smirking to himself when he saw the rubber lining. "Cap's ruint." He chuckled. "Probably outta coolant."

"Can you fix it?" She asked, leaning over beside him to examine the cap herself. She caught him staring at her ample bosom and cleared her throat.

He glanced back up to her eyes. "Course I can." He scoffed. "Gotta wait for it to cool off, first. Go grab something to eat. I'll come find ye." He said, nodding in the direction of the Luna Mesa. "Who should I look for?"

"Cheyenne." She smiled, holding out her hand for him. He cocked his head at her, raising a brow and glaring at her hand, refusing to accept the good gesture.

"Cheyenne." The way he said it oozed sex and sent a shiver down her spine.

She had to admit, he was painfully attractive, despite all his major flaws. She pushed the thought far from her mind. She was here on a mission. "And you are?"

"Ye kin call me Mac. Best not forget." He smirked, giving her another glance at his teeth, this time more close up.

"Mac." She purred, nodding at him as she said it. "I won't forget."

She hadn't pictured him like this. She wasn't exactly sure what she expected. She swished her ass as she walked the few yards to the bar and grill, glancing over her shoulder to ensure he was looking. Of course he was. She had to make herself available to bait the prize. _Bingo_, she thought to herself as she crossed the threshold past the bat wing doors and into the Luna Mesa.

When she entered the shady establishment, all eyes in the room were on her. It wasn't hard to do when there were only four men in the room. She pushed past the stares and found a seat at the bar, grabbing a menu off the table behind her as she did. She opened the laminated paper and began browsing as an older Mexican man came through into the room. "Can I help you?"

"What's good?" She asked, glancing up at him over the menu.

"None of it." He chuckled. "I suggest this." He tilted the menu and pointed at a burger featuring buffalo sauce and blue cheese.

"Okay." She smiled, putting the menu down. "I'll have that and a beer. Whatever's on tap."

"Alright." He nodded. "So, what's a delicate young flower such as yerself doin' 'ere?"

"Just passing through. I'm stranded until the hick at the garage can fix my car."

He smirked as he pulled a tap in front of him, filling a glass with frothy brew and setting it before her. "Ye on business?"

"You could say that." She smiled at the thought. "I'm tying up a few lose ends for a family member."

"What do you do?"

"It's not important." She glowered, taking a sip from her glass. As far as she was concerned, no one here needed to know anything about her. She was here for one reason, and one reason only; revenge.

* * *

Cheyenne was beginning to lose faith in her mechanic when the sun started setting. The bar tender, Walter, told her to be patient. Mac didn't like to be rushed and she would get her feelings hurt if she tried to pressure him.

He mentioned that he ran the motel nearby and would give her a room for a fair price if she didn't want to drive all night. She was hoping it wouldn't take quite that long to get her car back. Sure, she needed to be in Cainville, but she also needed a quick getaway.

It was starting to get dark now and more and more people had been filing into the building. She was beginning to think it was the only place in this Podunk town. She made the transition from beer to whiskey as soon as the moon was full in the sky and she heard a coyote in the distance. She resolved that she would probably need to take Walter up on that offer for a room when she heard a very distinct voice shouting from the porch, just beyond the door.

He traveled in a pack, the alpha dog in the center of everything. Mac lead the way as his peers followed close behind him. They filed in the building, circling the pool table. Mac slipped from the door to the bar and helped himself to a bottle of Jack Daniels, grabbing what glasses he could reach and joining his group at the pool table.

"Looks like I'll have to take you up on that room." Cheyenne muttered to Walter.

"Mac!" Walter snapped.

His head spun around and he glared at the man behind the bar. He reluctantly walked over, whiskey glass in hand. "What?"

"What's the news on the car, son?" He asked calmly, nodding in Cheyenne's direction.

"Blew the radiator completely. I 'ave ta order a new one. Can't order it till ye pay for it."

Cheyenne realized she was stranded. She hadn't planned this far ahead in her strategy. "How much will that be?"

"I'd say $100, easy."

"I don't have that kind of money." She simply stated.

"I'm sure we could work somethin' out." He smirked, raising a brow at her as he finished his drink.

"Enough, Mac!" The old man snapped. He reached for something under the bar but Mac stopped, putting his hands in the air and taking a step back.

"Thanks, but I'll figure something out." Cheyenne muttered. "Walter, about that room-"

"Say no more." He sighed, pulling out a little gold key with the number 5 on it. "Don't worry about it, it's on me." He held his hand up.

"Really, I can't."

"I insist, go rest." He said sternly.

She emptied her glass and picked up the key from the counter. Mac dangled her car keys in front of her face and she snatched them, pushing past his looming figure and out the swinging door.

She stumbled down the stairs, feeling the full effects of the alcohol in the cool night air. She tromped through the dust and straight to her car, unlocking the trunk and grabbing her bag. She slipping in the passenger seat and pulled the .45 Colt in the secret Velcro compartment in the seat. She tucked the gun in her purse and trudged back across the lot to the motel on the other side.

The rooms were labeled simply, numbers 1-10. Five was somewhere in the center. The key fit the lock and she slipped in the room, taking care to lock it behind her as she rifled through her bag. She was surprised to find that everything seemed to be there and untouched. "Stupid hick…"

* * *

"We can't afford to have another girl go missing, Mac. We're one missing person away from having the FBI in the middle of everything. We can't afford for that to happen." Walter bellowed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Mac muttered under his breath.

"I mean it, son. Keep it in your pants."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, okay! I heard ye, old man!" He stormed out of the storage room and back into the bar, back to his friends.

Sure, he had contemplated killing her. He'd fuck her before and probably after, of course, ripping that sweet little pussy of hers open with his giant, pulsating cock. His dick was getting tight in his pants just thinking about it.

She'd whimper. Her eyes would get big, bloodshot, on the verge of bulging out. She would make the sweetest pleading noises. She would scream, All while her tight little cunt squeezed the life out of his dick. Then he'd squeeze the life out of her.

Shit, he couldn't quite remember why he would have ever thought of saying no. Walter wasn't the boss of him. Well, even if he was, what Walter didn't know wouldn't hurt him.


	2. Desperate Times

**I'm so excited this story has been so well received! Thanks to everyone who reviewed and to all the silent stalkers out there. If you make it to the end, please take a moment to let me know what you think. I'm kind of excited and have a lot of plans in mind for this one, so fasten your seat belts!**

**This story contains content of a graphic nature including, but not limited to: adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, rape, illicit sex acts, BDSM, murder, and mutilation. Viewer discretion is advised. **

* * *

"We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged"  
― Heinrich Heine

* * *

"_Hello?" She muttered, still in a sleep-ridden haze. The glow of the iPhone illuminated her face just enough to sting her eyes, not yet adjusted to the light._

"_Chey!" The familiar voice was a muffled whisper. "Chey, you have to help me!"_

"_Is this some kind of joke?" She groaned, rubbing her eyes and sitting up in the bed._

"_Are you fucking kidding me? Cheyenne, I don't know what happened! I don't know where anyone is!"_

"_Whoa, whoa! Slow down! Where are you?"_

"_I don't know! It's so dark!"_

_She could hear her crying through the ear piece. Cheyenne didn't know what to do. She felt helpless. "What happened?"_

"_That's just it, I don't know! Shit! I think he's come back!"_

"_Who? Who is coming?" She never got an answer. She only listened in horror to what was happening in another world, on the other end of that receiver._

"_Little bitch! Where ya been hidin' that phone, huh?" There was a loud, distinctly feminine scream. The kind of blood curdling one that you would hear in a B-rated horror movie, the kind that could shatter glass. There was a thud, then a few loud snapping noises and then nothing but static._

* * *

Cheyenne woke up in a cold sweat, springing forth into an upright sitting position with a loud gasp. She had been having this dream for weeks now. If only it had been just a dream. It was more like a nightmare.

It took her a few minutes to realize there was a loud banging at her door. It took about that long for her to remember where she was and why it was that she was here.

"Hold on." She yelled, clearing her throat. She threw the sheets from herself and ran a hand through the rat's nest that was her hair before clearing the room and looking through the peephole on the dusty pink motel door. It was only Walter. She unlocked the door, undid the chain, and opened the door enough to peek her face through. "Yes?"

"I have a proposition for you. May I come in?"

"Uh…" She looked around to make sure she had her belongings put up. She ensured her sleep shirt was covering her well enough. She didn't see the man as a threat. "Sure. Come in." She pulled the door open the rest of the way. "Sorry, you kind of just woke me up." She laughed, fixing the bed spread before she sat down on the edge. Walter took a seat at the modest table in front of her.

"It's s'alright. This will only take a moment. I couldn't help but hear about your… predicament last night. I'll need help tonight at the bar. Weekends are busy. You can work off the room with the wages and whatever tips you make can go towards paying Mac."

"Oh, wow. That's more than generous." She admitted, a little taken aback by the gesture of good faith. "I've honestly never worked in a bar before."

"Well, you can obviously hear. Ye look smart enough to be able to read and write. S'not hard, dear. Be charming, take down orders, relay them to me."

"Sounds easy enough." She nodded.

"Get ready, meet me there at noon." He said, standing back up.

She walked him out and locked the door behind him, using it for stability as she weighed her options. She had no car, no way out. She had to have it fixed before she could do anything she had set here to do. Her quick trip was slowly turning into a drawn out mess. What the fuck had she gotten herself into?

* * *

The window slipped open a little easier than he expected. He hadn't had to use the windows in a long time, but the front of the motel faced the Luna Mesa and he couldn't risk being caught, even if it was dark out.

The room was empty. He had kind of hoped she would be there, maybe in the shower or asleep, so he could surprise her. She'd fight back for sure, then. The thought gave him a distinct tingly feeling in his nether regions.

The room was clean and neat. If not for the luggage in the corner, he would think he had chosen the wrong room. First things first; the bag. He grabbed her luggage from the corner and unzipped the duffle bag, finding right at the top an assortment of lacey undergarments. He smiled to himself, taking pleasure in imagining them on her thin frame. His dick began to strain against his zipper as he chose a red thong and brought the crotch of the panties to his nose. Clean. Of course they were. There wasn't much else in the bag besides clothing.

He swept the rest of the room. Everything looked like it should. He instinctively looked in the bed side drawer under that hideous lamp. The Colt .45 revolver he had found in her car was sitting there, taunting him. "Stupid bitch." He muttered to himself. He had to give it to her, he almost didn't notice the compartment in the passenger's seat on his first run through of the car. He almost thought it was the drugs, playing with his mind. She got points for effort, a few more for creativity. He left it there in the drawer. He didn't want to make his presence too obvious. He took comfort in knowing where she kept the gun, though, it would definitely be useful later.

He went next to the bathroom. She had obviously used it, the mat on the floor was damp, there was a towel and discarded clothing on the floor in a pile, and the room smelled distinctly feminine. Mac first found her discarded underwear. They were a vibrant blue, cotton, and kind of square. He didn't approve of the choice in panties, but he did appreciate the slightly damp stain he found in the crotch. He smirked to himself, bringing the material to his nose. Musky, sweet, and distinctly feminine.

He couldn't help himself. He ran his tongue along the spot. He brought his other hand down, pressing on the bulge in his pants to relieve some of the pressure as he sucked on the dirty fabric. Sweet, salty, and absolutely perfect. He groaned deep in his throat. He knew this was for him. He got some type of sick self-gratification knowing that he had caused the moisture between her thighs that had undoubtedly coated the fabric in his mouth.

She wasn't really anything special, he told himself. She was skinny in a muscular type of way, not in a way that screamed she needed a hamburger. Her hair was wavy, a mousey brown color that wasn't too appealing. Her eyes were about the same. They were a pale blue, kind of dull and leaning towards gray. She had a pretty enough face. In fact, she looked almost familiar to him. He wasn't sure why.

Her tits were decent. Maybe a bit on the small side, but he imagined they would fill his hands nicely. He had also noticed that her small chest entitled her to not wearing a bra. He liked that. Less work for him. Her ass; that was the star of the show. It was round and full, yet still fit her shape. It didn't look out of place on her.

He shouldn't have to wait. He undid his zipper and his dick sprung forward with little time in between. He gripped his cock firmly in his hand right at the base and squeezed himself firmly before stroking his way to the tip and swirling his thumb around his weeping head, getting the salty, moist precum all over his thumb. That wasn't going to be enough lubrication. He looked around the counter and found all kind of tinted creams and tubes of gunk that Cheyenne must have used to get ready. He grabbed a white jar that said it was some type of moisturizer. He opened the lid and took a sniff of the cream. He snorted at the overwhelming floral smell, but decided it was better than nothing. He dug his grimy, thick fingers in the jar and pulled them out completely coated in white cream before he grabbed his cock again and began pumping at a more steady pace.

He ran his tongue over the panties and began biting down. His saliva was mixing in with the sweet fluid in the underwear and it was quickly taking over his senses. He pictured her with these panties in her mouth, bent over the counter, him jamming his thick cock into that tight little cunt as her face slammed into the mirror and she clawed at his arms, begging him to stop. He jerked harder at his raging erection until spurts of hot cum flew out and splattered on the mirror. He let out a few short, ragged breaths before he tucked his dick back into his zipper and pocketed the panties for later.

He didn't bother cleaning up the mirror, or fixing the room back to the way she had had it. At this point he knew she wanted it, wanted this, wanted _him_. He wanted to know he was there, he was watching, and that he knew.


	3. Desperate Measures

**This story contains content of a graphic nature including, but not limited to: adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, rape, illicit sex acts, BDSM, murder, and mutilation. Viewer discretion is advised. **

**If you make it to the end, please don't be shy! Feel free to leave your thoughts and suggestions! **

* * *

"Revenge may be wicked, but it's natural."  
― William Makepeace Thackeray, _Vanity Fair_

* * *

Walter wasn't kidding Cheyenne when he told her earlier that she would have her work cut out for her. The Luna Mesa was a hectic blur compared to last night. Her head was practically spinning from all the drink orders and menu choices. She was surprised she was keeping up. But she was managing. Her head was barely above water.

She had been there a few hours and Walter was impressed with how she handled herself. She was warm and inviting, flirting with the customers, joking and being polite. He personally liked the girl. He also liked what she was doing for business. Guys weren't hesitating to order more libations, even buying her a few shots through out the night.

She was almost in the all clear when Mac walked in the room. She noticed quickly how the vibe had suddenly changed. The care free, devil-may-care attitude in the room shifted, ever so slightly.

His eyes caught hers in a blatant stare. He smirk at her and flicked his tongue out in her direction, giving her this evil glare. She visibly shivered. She hadn't meant to stare, she just felt compelled. He had an over-confident gait to his walk. He looked like he owned the place. In his mind, he probably did. The thought made her sick, yet she couldn't help but watch as he made his way through the crowd, the other patrons parting with little instigation.

He joined a few more men in the corner. She remembered referring to the bald one as 'grabby hands' after three shots and two beers. She had slapped his hand away, plainly stating that she was not on the menu. The other's just kind of snickered in the background as he pretended to laugh it off.

She shook herself from her mesmerized stare when Walter called to her to grab another order. There was a tray on the counter with a few shots for the table of college kids at a booth by the window. She collected the tray and handed out the shots along with general pleasantries before carrying the tray back to Walter.

A cat-call type whistle cut through the constant drone of too many separate conversations and country music that sounded like it was from the eighties. She whipped her neck, glancing in his direction over her shoulder. She didn't think twice about it, it was Mac that wanted her attention. Well, he got it.

"Yes?" She purred, sashaying her way to their table.

"Cheyenne!" He practically shouted. "Whatcha doin' here, girl?"

"I told you I'd figure something out." She smirked, playing with him.

"Coulda made yer life a whole lot easier if ye'd taken me up on my offer last night." He smirked, licking his lower lip as he looked her over.

"Walter's offer seemed a little bit more my style." She said coolly.

"Ye look awful fine in that apron. Old man did me a favor, hirin' you. Now I kin do my two favorite things at once."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" She took the bait.

"Drink and fuck wit ye." He chuckled. His friends followed suit.

"You aren't drinking yet." She countered, leaning into the table a bit more. She caught him staring and smirked to herself.

"Whiskey. Bring the bottle and some glasses."

"Yes, sir."

"Like the sound o' that." He scoffed, leaning back in his seat.

She rolled her eyes and felt him watching her ass as she walked back to the bar. "What's he wan?" Walter asked.

"Bottle and glasses for the table."

The old Bandito looked over the counter and glared at Mac as he pulled a full bottle from the shelf and handed it to her along with a few glasses. "Watch yerself, Cheyenne." He warned before he turned back to his customers.

She bit her lip before she turned around, taking a deep breath and coming to terms with her fate here. _It would be worth it in the end_, she told herself. No matter what the cost.

She brought the bottle and placed it infront of him, the glasses quickly after. "Enjoy." She murmured, turning to leave. He caught her wrist quickly and jerked her back. "Ye didn't bring enough glasses."

She did a quick head count and glared at him. "I could count, last I checked."

"Watch yer mouth." He warned her. "Yer gonna take a shot." He grinned deviously.

"Oh, no. Not while I'm on the clock."

He opened the bottle, pouring a healthy sized shot and handing her the glass. "Ye'll take the shot if ye want yer tip." He snapped, handing her the glass.

She looked over to Walter, who had his back turned, addressing a middle-aged woman at the bar. She took the glass and tilted it back with ease, slamming it on the table in front of him. He smirked at her, looking pleased as his friends took pleasure from her show of confidence. "Happy?"

"Not jus' yet. Do one more."

"I think one is my limit."

"One more an' ye'll git more than jus' the tip." He glared at her defiantly as his friends cackled.

"I'll go get you a clean glass." She said, ignoring his crude remark.

"Don't bother." He poured another shot into the glass. "I like this one jus' fine." He downed the shot, then licked the rim of the glass. The gesture was purely sensual. She cursed herself for taking note of that and cursed herself again for actually taking interest. She turned on her heels and started making rounds again to pull herself away from the situation. "Ain't done with you." He called after her.

"But I am." She called over her shoulder. She retreated to the bar to grab a few cold beers and passed them out in a meticulous manner. She was well aware his eyes were on her. "Walter, you mind if I take a few minutes?"

The old man merely nodded. "Make it quick."

She slipped into the restroom and glared at herself in the mirror, running the cold water. She dampened her hands and patted the water on her face, careful not to ruin her makeup. She thought she was prepared for this, thought she had all her bases covered.

She heard the bolt in the door click behind her. She didn't have to guess who it was, She could see his shadow slip in behind her just as the lock on the door clicked into place. He was certainly persistent. He caught her hips before she could spin around. His finger tips dug into the tender flesh above her pelvic bones as he pressed his body weight into her. She could feel the hard bulge in his jeans digging into her ass, but all she could concentrate on was the cold porcelain of the sink basin that was digging into her stomach. "Mac." It came out barely a whisper.

"Said I wasn't done with ye." He said through gritted teeth. He bit into her earlobe, harder then necessary and she cried out. Her muffled scream did something to his insides. He needed more. "I know ye've been thinkin' 'bout me. Don't pretend like ye don' want it."

"I think you should go back to your friends." She tried to remain calm, tried to keep herself from giving him the reaction he wanted. He didn't deserve the satisfaction.

"I think ye should mind yer fuckin' business." He growled. He let go of her hip, digging in his jeans. She watched him through the mirror as he pulled out a very familiar piece of blue fabric. "Look familiar?" He asked, watching her eyes go wide. Without hesitation he stuffed the fabric into her mouth as she tried to fight against him. He only pressed her harder forward. "Calm down, sweetheart. Ain't gonna hurt ye. Still got work ta do." He wrapped his strong arm around her throat, pressing her back flush with his chest and drawing her back from the sink. With his free hand, he opened her jeans, finding they were too tight to sink his large hands into without the extra leeway. She struggled a bit, clawing at his arms, he just laughed at her fowled attempts. She couldn't do more damage than he had already done himself. He sunk his fingers into her panties, smirking when he felt the small tuft of hair just above her slit. He liked that. She was all woman. He nudged her folds open, sinking all the way into her with ease despite the girth of his fingers. Despite herself, she moaned. "So fuckin' wet." He hissed, slipping his hand out and circling his now moistened digit around her swollen little nub. "All this fer me, huh?" He smirked as she rolled her ass against his strained erection, arching her back at his touch. "Yer just a dirty fuckin' slut, huh?" He slid his fingers back and forth a few times before sinking them into her again. "Ye wanna fuck my fingers with that tight little cunt o' yers?" She involuntarily whimpered at his touch.

Mac cursed quietly when someone slammed on the door, knocking loudly. "Cheyenne? You okay, girl?" It was Walter.

That old fuck really knew how to ruin his good time. "Answer him. Play nice." He threatened quietly, releasing her neck enough to grab the panties from her mouth.

"Yeah, Walter. I just need a minute. I'll be right out." She gasped, struggling with the words. Mac didn't stop his ministrations. With his grip loosened on her neck, her body crumpled forward, gripping tight to the sink as he pumped his fingers inside of her.

He paused on the other side of the door, seemingly unconvinced. "Alright."

Mac listened as the foot steps grew quieter. When he was sure the man was gone, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to her ear. "Good girl." He pulled his fingers from her tight confines, and brought them to her lips. Without hesitation, she took his rigid fingers in her mouth, suckling her own juices off of them as he watched her face. His cock sprung to full attention, painfully tight against his jeans as he felt her oral skills. He would feel her mouth on his cock soon enough, feel her juices roll down his throat first hand. But not right now. He was gonna make her wait. "Fix yerself up." He growled, smacking her ass and wiping his wet fingers on his jeans before he opened the door and left her alone feeling used.


	4. Compromising Positions

**I wanted this up for Whiskey Wednesday, so I kind of sped through it, I hope it's acceptable! **

**I get a sick amount of joy from writing this story. I guess that's a true testament to how powerful the Mac feels are. I love getting compliments on my Mac smut!**

**I'd like to thank all of my silent readers, of which there are far too many. The more popular the story gets, the more likely I am to get chapters up more quickly. Just bear that in mind.**

* * *

**This story contains content of a graphic nature including, but not limited to: adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, rape, illicit sex acts, BDSM, murder, and mutilation. Viewer discretion is advised.**

* * *

"To exact revenge for yourself or your friends is not only a right, it's an absolute duty."  
― Stieg Larsson

* * *

Cheyenne had made it out alive. It was nearing sunrise and she and Walter had managed to clear the bar out and were in the process of cleaning. Walter was cleaning the kitchen while Cheyenne cleared tables and swept the bar.

She gathered the trash bags by the door and went out to take the bags to the hopper behind the bar. She might have been being paranoid, but if she thought she was being watched, that's because she was.

"Nice girl like you shouldn't be outside all alone. Lots a dangerous shit happens out here. People go missin' all the time." Mac hissed, somewhere close behind her.

"You don't say." She mused, throwing the bags into the metal bin. He watched her methodically do her work, chewing absent-mindedly on his thumbnail.

She was still shaken from their encounter in the bathroom. There was a sick, twisted side of her that got off on it. She had been aroused, not only through the fear, but from the feral, primal man that was causing it. It was intriguing, though she wouldn't admit that. The smug bastard got a kick out of dominating women. She refused to fuel his fire.

The bags, one by one, made their way into the hopper and once that task was complete, she spun around and walked back to the building. Mac was close behind, silently following her, watching her every movement.

They were almost to the Luna Mesa's front porch when Mac pushed the small girl into the picnic table on the side of the building. Her ass met the edge of the table and he pushed her back onto it. "Wanna pick up where we left off?"

"I'm not finished cleaning yet." She protested.

"That ain't a no." He smirked, showing off his rotten teeth, looking down at her nimble body. She was fully at his disposal. He licked his lips, trying to decide what to do next.

"Walter." She said quietly.

"We'll have ta be quick, then." He gave her that wicked smile again, pulling out his pocket knife and flipping it open, holding the cold metal blade up to her throat. "Wont we?" He clawed at her jeans, undoing the clasp and pulling the tab on the zipper easily enough with his clunky, yet skilled, fingers. She gave a short intake of breath, but didn't protest. The knife lingering against her pulse kept her silent.

Her jeans hit her ankles and made it no further. For a moment, the knife left her throat. She took the opportunity to lean up on her arms, propping herself up to watch him. The blade of the knife worked it's way under the side of her panties, slicing the material twice before Mac was able to rip the cotton away. He grunted and growled his approval when he saw her lying there, exposed. "Been wantin' ta taste ye fer hours now." He trailed the tip of the knife down her dripping slit. He jumped at the contact of the cold blade to her hot, molten core.

"We don't have time." She whimpered. She found herself mesmerized and disgusted, the two contradicting ideas leaving her very confused. _It'll all be over soon_, she told herself. _You can't back out now. You've come too far._

"Won't be long. I'll have ye gushin'. Beggin' fer me ta make ya come." He smiled that black toothed smile that made her body cringe before he sunk down to his knees. He wasn't usually so giving. Ordinarily, by now, he would have fucked her raw and left her panting, if he left her breathing at all.

Cheyenne was a special case. She didn't seem afraid. He wanted to commit the time and effort into breaking her. He wanted her to squirm. If he weren't so anxious, he could get off on her fear alone. Fucking her senseless was just gonna heighten his experience.

"Still so fuckin' wet." Her pink lips still glistened from her earlier arousal. Mac felt a tinge of pride when he realized she hadn't bothered to clean herself up from before. She must have liked it.

"Mac, we really should be getting –" His lips clamped around her clit and all other thoughts were pushed from her mind. "Oh my God." She whimpered, bucking her hips into his face. His tongue swirled around her tight, engorged little powerhouse of nerves over and over. Mac never was one for foreplay. He sucked and ground what was left of his teeth against the swollen nub. All Cheyenne could do was sit there and try to stay quiet.

With no warning, he thrust his thick fingers back inside of her. She couldn't muffle the scream from the new sensation and he looked back up at her, sprawled out on this table in front of him like the fancy dinner he had skipped out on earlier. Meth curbed his appetite for most things, but not pussy.

He swirled his tongue on her clit, curling his fingers as he fucked her. She moaned quietly, thrusting herself onto his fingers. He felt that familiar clenching, her pussy muscles contracting like a vice on his thick digits. He smirked to himself, then pulled himself away.

"What the fuck?" She shouted, shrill and unforgiving.

"Tol' ye I'd make ye beg." He chuckled, wiping his mouth on the back of his well-toned arm. It glistened under the light from the security lamp.

"You want me to beg?" She spat. He chuckled again, pulling a silver tin from his pocket. He rubbed some white powder onto his gums, dispelling her questions about his oral hygiene, and then began to walk to his truck. "Where are you going?"

"Don' worry, ye'll see me soon enough." He called from over his shoulder. _Sooner than ye think_, he thought, darkly. Mac wasn't a patient man. He wouldn't be able to play this game as long as he wished he could, especially if meth was running through his veins.

* * *

Cheyenne returned to the motel after her crazy night at the Luna Mesa. The first thing she noticed was her bag on her bed, the second, that her nightstand's drawer was wide open. She rushed to the table, seeing quickly that the small revolver was still there, though shifted slightly. She didn't have to ask twice who had been here.

She walked to the bath room next, finding her clothes in the pile on the floor, minus one pair of turquoise boy shorts. She knew the gag he had used on her earlier had looked familiar. Her moisturizer was open, gobs of it missing from the jar on the counter. Splatters of white cream covered the mirror over the sink. She turned her nose up in disgust, grabbing one of the hand towels and wiping the spurts of cum off. "Fucking tweaker hick."

She weighed her options. She didn't have any, short of taking her .45 with her to work tomorrow night and wasting the methed out mechanic. That would only leave her without a car, stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere. Besides, she wanted to savor this.

She'd already fucked his hand, let him put his tongue in her pussy. She found that this necessary evil really conflicted with what she had set out to Cainville to accomplish. How it had made her feel seemed to be a bigger problem.


	5. Abduction

**Sorry this took so long to get out. There's not really an excuse. I was reading A LOT of TWD fanfics because they're so easy to come by and I got inspired to work on **_**Finding Solace**_** a lot more. Then I got side-tracked and all my Mac concentration went to **_**Behind Bars**_** and then I got exhausted.**

**I had a dastardly idea with this concerning this story and **_**Behind Bars**_**, so I'm in the midst of working that out. My friend pushed me to try it, so I hope it really works out for the better. I hope you stick around, and if you liked **_**Behind Bars**_**, I have a feeling you're gonna want to read the rest of this.**

**Anyway, I was getting a little bored and decided it was time to kick things up a notch. This chapter is a little short, but hopefully I can get the next one out sooner.**

**Per usual, this story contains content of a graphic nature including, but not limited to: adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, rape, illicit sex acts, BDSM, murder, and mutilation. Viewer discretion is advised.**

* * *

"Revenge is an infection of the spirit."  
― Jonathan Maberry, _Rot and Ruin_

* * *

Cheyenne counted her tips from last night for the third time, rubbing the bills between her thumb and fore finger, almost willing the dollars to multiply before her eyes. $76.85. That was a decent turnout for a night out in the mid-west, she imagined.

If only she could find the rest of the money she needed. She didn't want to have to spend another night in this God forsaken place, serving the heathens in the desert and pretending that Mac wasn't getting to her in the most intimate way possible. She was ready to get this whole ordeal over with and get the fuck out of dodge before shit hit the fan.

_He's a drug addict and a rapist, a murderer and just down right nasty_, she reminded herself, taking a deep breath and pulling her hair back, tying it in a loose bun at the nape of her neck in a fouled attempt to beat the dry heat.

She tucked the bills in the pocket of her jeans and decided to head into the Luna Mesa a little earlier than necessary in hopes that Walter would let her out before Saturday night turned into another ordeal like last night. She shuddered at the thought of Mac's hands on her, her thighs clamped on his cheeks in the middle of the parking lot.

"You're early." Walter muttered, cleaning down the counters. "Grab a mop."

"Yes, Sir." She tried to smile but he seemed distracted.

"You should have enough money by tonight, right girl?"

"I hope so."

"If not, I'll work it out with Mac. Good girl like you doesn't need to be in a place like this. Wont do you any good."

"Thanks." She said quietly. She wasn't sure why he was offering to do this or what she should say. He seemed to have underlying motives, but she didn't think it was her place to pry. He nodded and then excused himself to the back of the building.

She continued to swab the splintering wood around her until she heard Walter's muffled screaming. "I don't care what it takes! You make this work or I replace you with someone who will!" She couldn't help herself. She placed the mop at angle by the counter and crept quietly closer to the storage room. "Don't think I won't, Mac. This isn't a game. It's business." There was a moment's pause, then he continued. "You're distracted, boy. You won't have to worry about her for long." Cheyenne heard the tell tale click of the phone touching the base and then slipped back to her menial work in the bar.

_Mac_? He had been talking to Mac. She wasn't sure what they were talking about, but she realized that they were working together at something. She wondered what it was. They had also discussed a certain _distraction_. She didn't have to wonder what Walter had been talking about then. The distraction was her.

* * *

The bar was definitely busier that night. Cheyenne had earned the tips she needed and then some all by eleven o'clock.

By three o'clock, she couldn't help but notice that as the crowd started to dwindle down and business came to a halt that her tall dark detainer had not made an appearance. She tried not to let it bother her, but she couldn't help but feel somewhat disappointed with just a tinge of curiosity about what he could possibly be doing instead.

Walter made an announcement for last call and the last few stragglers staggered out the door. They began the tedious task of cleaning the bar again before Walter locked the doors and sent Cheyenne on her way.

She unlocked the door to room number 5 and slipped out of her boots first, letting her aching arches rest for a few precious moments before she pulled the rest of her tips out of her pocket. $167.15 total. She was doing better than she anticipated. She undid her dark indigo skinny jeans and kicked them to the side of the wall. She was relieved to be able to relax for once after another long day.

She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her feet briefly. That's when she noticed it. Directly across from her on the adjacent round table was the Holy Bible that should have been lying dormant in her bedside table drawer. Instead, it was lying open in front of her. She glanced cautiously from side to side, then rose from the bed, crossing the short distance between her bed and the table and saw sprawled across the tables edges were pages from the Book of Revelations. Scrawled along the verses were crude drawings. Spiders. Very sloppy spiders, made from repetitive circles and squiggled lines. She fingered one of the pages, ripped haphazardly from the holy book. She had a good idea where it had come from.

She sighed heavily, slipping into the rest room to wash her face. She grabbed a makeup wipe and swiped it along her cheeks and eyes, rubbing off the makeup and dirt. When she was happy with the results, she squirted some cleanser in the palm of her hand and continued to wash her face. She cut on the hot water and bent over the oval sink basin to rinse. Steam rose around her and she averted her eyes from the mirror long enough for the dark figure to tear himself from the shower, silent and deadly. She didn't notice him slip behind her until the raging protrusion in his coveralls nudged against her bare ass in her lacey red thong. She snapped back to a full stance, water dripping down her neck and splattered wet marks on her casual tee shirt. She shrieked in surprise as Mac's face, half covered in a handkerchief, met hers in the reflection of the foggy mirror. His hand closed over her mouth before she could utter another word. His other arm wrapped around her throat and she found it very hard to breathe. She punched and clawed at the arm as her eyes rolled back and shut completely.

"Come on, girl. Got plans fer ye."


	6. Scream

**I was determined to write a chapter yesterday but I only got about half done with it and I wasn't happy. I decided to take the extra time and finish it off. I'm not really sure what happened here, but this is it. I promise it's longer, but you know me and those cliffhangers. Kudos to Annabeth for the seeds of inspiration! Love you all and thanks for the reciprocation! **

**Usual warnings apply. This story contains content of a graphic nature including, but not limited to: adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, rape, illicit sex acts, BDSM, murder, and mutilation. Viewer discretion is advised.**

* * *

"A need for revenge can burn long and hot. Especially if every glance in a mirror reinforces it."  
― Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay

* * *

Cheyenne was vaguely aware of two things as she regained consciousness; her head was fucking killing her, and she had no idea where the fuck she was. Her arms were numb. She looked up hazily. Her wrists were bound and hanging from a hook in the ceiling. In a panic, she glanced down and noticed her legs were bound to a black metal bar, spreading her legs at least two feet apart. They felt numb as well, but she could reach the ground.

Her eyes shot across the room, darting from object to object, taking it all in. Metal drums in the corner, empty pizza boxes, glass beer and liquor bottles, propane tanks. The walls were rugged earth, some of which was cloaked in plastic sheets. She was in some type of cave.

"Mac!" She screamed, somewhat overzealously. "God damn it!" She tried to kick out and only managed to make herself sway a little. "Mac!"

"Easy now. Yer gonna tire yourself out 'fore the fun even starts." He chuckled. His voice was coming from somewhere behind her. That much she knew. She tried to twist around but it proved a difficult task with her legs and arms being bound.

She felt his rough hands on her hips and she realized she was hanging only in her bra and panties. She tried to twist out of his grip but he held her steady. She couldn't kick him like she wanted. His steel-toed boot was pressing against the spreader bar wedged between her ankles and holding her bare feet firm to the ground.

Cheyenne let out a frustrated scream, not just from the situation that she had somehow winded up in, but also because she had let it happen. She wasn't only letting herself down. She had failed. She had to figure out how the hell she was gonna get out of this one alive and fully intact.

"S'alright, sweetheart. Take yer time. Make all the noise ye want. No one's gonna hear ye out here." He pulled a knife from his back pocket and trailed the blade along the inside of her exposed arms. "Ye gone play nice? We gon' have some fun." He chuckled, trailing the blade along her neck, making her twitch and shiver. She bit her lower lip to keep her composure and hung her head back, wishing this would just be over. "Ain't gonna let ye off that easy." He muttered, close to her ear. His voice vibrated on her soft flesh and she could smell his rotten breath.

The tip of the blade trailed down between the soft pillows of her breasts and across her stomach before he slipped the blade under the each of her bra straps, snapping them with little effort until the cups fell down, exposing her modest tits. He used one hand to unsnap the clasp of her bra, sending the ruined garment to the floor at her bare feet as he circled her hardening nipples with his knife. He bit down hard on the shell of her ear and her knees buckled together, putting more pressure on her limp arms. She whimpered at the extreme sensations she was feeling and barely noticed Mac's next move.

He cut the straps holding her to the ceiling of the cave and her numb, taught body crumpled to the floor by his feet. The restraints caused her to fall to her knees first, her face smashing into the hard rock beneath her. She struggled up to her elbows with a groan and Mac whistled at the new view this angle created for him. "Yer makin' it hard ta say no." He chuckled, pressing the sole of his boot into her ample ass cheek and pressing her face further into the dirt.

She struggled back up to her elbows, coughing and spitting out blood and dirt. "Go ahead and do it. Do whatever you were going to do." She managed, wiggling her ass a little bit in front of him to further push her point across.

"Yer really askin' for it, ye know that?" He muttered. His voice sounded torn, as if he weren't sure of his next move. He walked off silently and reached for something on the makeshift table behind him. The silver glinted in the light cast from the gas lamps on the wall and Cheyenne's eyes grew big when she realized what it was. Her Colt .45 revolver.

"Look familiar?" He cackled. He dropped to his knees behind her, his calves falling firmly on the spreader bar and keeping her still as he ran his arm around her throat and pulled her back in line with his broad chest. "Open up." He breathed against her ear. When she didn't comply, he bit down on her shoulder, breaking skin and drawing blood. Her blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth and he spread the life source up her neck with his slimy tongue. He elicited a loud, excruciating scream from her full, lush lips and used the opportunity to shove the tip of the revolver in her mouth. She spat and choked as he ran the gun around the ridges of her cavern. "That's it. Nice an' wet, sweetheart."

His cock was at full attention. Hell, it had been since he snatched this little cunt from her room a few hours ago. He had been aching to touch her. Just longing to shove his dick inside her up to the hilt and ram her fucking brains out. He kept telling himself this was a fucking mistake. The man in him was telling him to hold back, it was too risky and wasn't a good idea, but the primal animal he turned into after countless hits of meth and whiskey shots reminded him to shut the fuck up.

He settled for something in-between, forcing her panties down to her knees and pulling the gun from her lips and shoving the revolver into her tight, surprisingly wet, confines. The noise she made was indescribable, something between a scream and a squeal. He wanted nothing more than to be that gun. He relished in the fat that he had caused that noise. "Fuckin' slut. I bet ye like that."

She whimpered, falling forward onto her forearms and started to cry. She wished he would just rape her and get this over with.

She was afraid. Afraid she wouldn't make it out alive. Afraid the gun, now ripping her pussy apart, was loaded. Afraid for her feelings. She couldn't help but be mildly turned on as this monster of a man dominated and violated her.

"Y'ain't got nothin' smart ta say? Must admit, I'm a little dissppointed." He muttered, pulling the gun out and running the wet tip along her slit, then stopped to swirl it around her puckered, tighter hole and snickered when she shook and cried harder.

"Ain't gonna wear ye out too quick." Mac muttered. She glanced at him from over her shoulder and his entire face had changed. He was angry. He smacked her ass cheek, hard enough to leave the mark of a perfect hand print, covering the entire area, and then he staggered back up to his feet. He threw the gun to the wall and a clod of dirt dislodged from the wall and shot across the floor. The cylinder of the gun fell open and it skidded to a stop a few feet from Cheyenne's position.

It had been empty the whole time.

Cheyenne let out a breathy sigh of relief and hung her head on her forearms and slumped down in the dirt, letting her knees cave as she tried to curl into the fetal position. The bars restricting her ankles apart frustrated her to no end and she screamed, the noise echoing off the walls of the cave. The noise was only heightened when the tip of his boot wedged between her ribs and winded her.

"Tryin' ta fuckin' concentrate." He spat. He needed to finish that order Walter had given him or it would be his ass. He also had other pressing matters to attend to which were conflicting with this fine coos on the floor at his feet.

"That must be so fucking hard for you. Forgive me." She managed to retort.

"There's that smart fuckin' mouth I love." He smirked. "You'll get your attention, baby girl. Don't you fuckin' worry 'bout that. First, I've got shit to do."


	7. Levels of Depravity

**The farther I get into this story, the more depraved I think my mind is. My BFF Annabeth and her amazing tumblr gave me the inspiration for this one and is the reason I didn't take forever to write it. I know it's a little short and I apologize, but it made the most sense to end where I did. **

**You know the drill by now. If you aren't used to seeing this warning in your Mac fiction, you've been reading the wrong stuff. This story contains content of a graphic nature that includes adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, rape, illicit sex acts, BDSM, murder, and mutilation. Not for those with weak stomachs or the faint of heart.**

* * *

"Revenge is like sex… It's best when it comes on slow, quiet, until it all seems inexorable."  
― Jim Butcher, Grave Peril

* * *

Cheyenne's eyes opened slowly. She hadn't slept in what felt like days, let alone eat or drink anything. Her body was slowly deteriorating. Mac would come at odd hours and she found herself paranoid and expecting his arrival at all times. He didn't seem to need to sleep or eat. His body was running off of fumes and he seemed to expect her to do the same.

When he made appearances, he wouldn't acknowledge her presence. She lost the drive to attempt to get a rise out of him on the second day. The desert heat was getting to her and she was having trouble breathing. Her entire body was numb. She hadn't moved from her spot on the ground, still chained and strapped in place.

Cheyenne was failing. She wasn't sure if she could see her now or if there was even any hope left, but if she could, Cheyenne hoped that she wasn't too disappointed.

"I'm sorry, Taylor." The words left her lips with little thought, barely a whisper. She wasn't even sure if she'd actually said it.

"What the fuck was that?" Mac growled from the corner, the words mumbled. The noxious smell in the air told her that he was mixing more chemicals in the cave. If she had any energy left, she would cough. When she didn't answer, he stormed over, lifting his gas mask to project his voice. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Water." She choked. "I need water."

"Like fuck you do! You need to fuckin' answer me, bitch!" He kicked her in the groin and she barely felt it. Her weak state only caused her to flop over onto her back. She seemed to have passed out. "Fuckin' hell." Mac muttered. He shuffled across the floor and grabbed a two bottles and opened one, holding it over her and dousing her filthy body. The water spilled in her open mouth and filled her nose. She coughed and sputtered, but didn't seem to stir much more. "Fuckin' answer me, bitch!"

"Water."

"Aw, shit." He grunted. He grabbed her tethered hands and drug her naked, limp body over to the wall so she could lean against it. He opened the bottle of water and tilted it to her parched, parted lips. The first few drops rolled down her throat and she seemed to reenergize quickly. Her eyes grew large and she overzealously grabbed the bottle in her bound hands and clutched it to her lips like a baby grasping a bottle. "You gonna answer me 'r what?" She only stared up at him with big gray eyes until she had drained the bottle of water. "I'mma fuck that pretty little face o' yers and then slap my cum outta yer mouth 'f you don' answer me right fuckin' now."

"I don't remember." She was barely audible.

Mac released a frustrated cry and the back of his hand met her cheek with a tangible smack. "I ain't fuckin' playin' with ye, cunt!"

Cheyenne whined and brought both hands up to clutch her raw, swollen cheek.

"Ye wanna play fuckin' games? We'll play fuckin' games." He growled. He grabbed her hair in rough handfuls and straightened her head. "Ye fuckin' bite me and ye _will_ be sorry. I'll make sure ye never walk again." He threatened.

She knew what he meant, exactly what he wanted, but she was frozen in place. "It ain't gonna take itself out, slut!" He knocked her head back into the cavern's walls with a jut of his narrow hips.

"My hands." She muttered, motioning in hopes that he'd cut the zip tie off of her bound wrists. "It will be much better if I can use my hands." She practically purred.

Mac groaned in frustration, but reached for his pocket and pulled out a buck knife, severing the plastic bindings in one quick strike. "Better fuckin' be worth it."

Cheyenne responded by rubbing the lacerations on her wrists, regaining a little feeling, as she smiled to herself, feeling triumphant. She had succeeded in getting her arms free, and it had only taken a few days.

He was wearing what looked like camouflaged army fatigues. She found the zipper easily enough and slowly pulled the tab down, teasingly. She reached in the fly of the pants and found he wasn't wearing underwear. He groaned when her hand met his engorged length. His dick was throbbing, pulsing, and impossibly hot and she hadn't even really touched him yet.

In her haste to get this over with, she didn't waste anytime. She slid her tongue around his pulsing head, tasting dirt and his salty precum. He groaned and leaned back a little, relaxing to her touch. She slipped the tip of her tongue in the slit of the head of his cock and he jerked his hips, thrusting towards her mouth. She giggled at his reaction and leaned forward to better adjust to his advancements. The vibrations her mouth emitted once she giggled set off something in Mac.

He had never been a patient man and he suddenly had an extreme urge to feel the back of her throat. He tangled his hands in her hair again and thrust into her mouth, causing her to choke. The sensation made his knees buckle and he had a hard time controlling his thrusts. She gagged again and again as his massive length plowed through her parched mouth and jammed into the back of her throat, again and again, mercilessly.

She was no longer controlling this blow job, Mac was merely fucking her mouth, using her for his own enjoyment again. She hated herself for being so aroused from this. This man was abusing her, taking advantage of her, holding her captive. The level of depravity she was experiencing was an aphrodisiac on it's own. She should have hated him. She remembered vaguely why she was there and what she was supposed to be doing. Her life was at stake, it depended on her acquiescing to his requests long enough to escape. She had to play along.

She was running out of saliva, but she could also tell that Mac was close to caving. She used what strength she had left in her arms, to grip his taught ass cheeks through his fatigues and thrust him forward as she moaned around his erection. He smacked her cheek while he was still balls deep in her mouth, unloaded hot spurts of cum into her throat. "God damn, dirty fuckin' slut!" He grunted, jerking at the knees a few last precious times as his eyes rolled back and his cock shook in her mouth.

He pulled out and tucked himself back in his pants. She looked up at him and noticed his demeanor had changed. He looked down at her in disgust. "I've got shit ta do. You so much as think 'bout undoin' them restraints, I'll gut ye like a dog. Don' think I wont find ye. Ye won' get far in them canyons."


	8. All Nightmare Long

**Has it been more than a week? This isn't nearly as long as it should be and I apologize immensely, but The Walking Dead starts tomorrow and I have to finish the final part of **_**Collision Repair**_** and Mac basically exhausts me. I really didn't want to leave you guys hanging much longer. **

**I enrolled in that The Walking Dead Canvas Network classes so I'm balancing that with work and my open fics and, of course, a social life and sleep, but I'm not going to go MIA, promise. I'll figure something out, updates just might be few and far between. We'll see how this all works out. **

_**Collision Repair**_** will be posted on Wednesday, even if I have to hold back on **_**Finding Solace**_**. It's already half finished and I'm really pleased with it so far. **

**You know the drill by now. If you aren't used to seeing this warning in your Mac fiction, you've been reading the wrong stuff. This story contains content of a graphic nature that includes adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, rape, illicit sex acts, BDSM, murder, and mutilation. Not for those with weak stomachs or the faint of heart.**

* * *

"Two wrongs don't make it right but...it makes it even!"

― Alex Biggs

* * *

Mac slammed the door on his pickup and strode up to her motel room with too much confidence. There was an envelope marked _Cheyenne _on the door. It was Walter's handwriting, Mac would bet his life on it. He plucked the note from it's tape and glanced at it. The old man was worried she had left without even saying goodbye but he wished her a safe trip. Mac rolled his eyes. His old man was so clueless.

He pulled the key from his pocket and slipped in. It was the middle of the night and he expected no one would notice him. If they did, they would never open their mouths.

Her purse was sitting on the table untouched. He grabbed the bag and ripped it apart looking for her wallet. His eyes gleamed when he found it and unsnapped the clasp. In the clear plastic pocket in the front of all the card slots was her driver's license.

_Cheyenne Matthews_.

"Well, I'll be…" He muttered to himself, half annoyed that he didn't see the similarities sooner. It all started to make sense. She wasn't here on accident. Cheyenne was looking for him. She was hunting him this whole time.

His face broke out in a wicked grin and he grabbed the bag, stuffing its contents back inside. He scoured the motel room, grabbing all of Cheyenne's belongings and throwing them in her abandoned duffel, mussing the sheets to make them look slept in.

When the room was empty, he slipped out and across the parking lot to his garage. Her car was still sitting on the lift, waiting for him to order a new radiator. He tossed all of the bags in the backseat and weighed his options.

There was no way he could move the SUV without fixing it. Towing it would be too risky. If Walter came by, he would see it in the garage and know what was up. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

All kinds of ideas circled in his head. He quickly forgot about the problem of the SUV and started brainstorming other, more lucrative, ventures.

* * *

Cheyenne realized quickly after she got her ankle straps unbuckled that Mac had been completely right about her trying to escape. If it weren't enough of a problem that she was completely naked and close to dehydration, being bound into place for several days had caused her legs to lose all feeling. She couldn't even stand, let alone walk. Crawling through the desert naked and malnourished would be a slow and painful death sentence. It wasn't something she was prepared to face, even if her only other option was dealing with Mac.

She rubbed her ankles, trying to will the feeling back and remove the indentations left behind by the leather bindings.

She was completely and utterly fucked. This had been a fine plan. Coming out here was her biggest mistake yet, but she was determined to see this through. She would just have to try harder to get Mac to keep her unrestrained; maybe talk him into taking her back to the Luna Mesa.

She froze when she heard his quiet footsteps. They echoed off the cave's walls, enhancing the sound for her ears. Without the reverberations, she never would have heard him coming.

"The hell you doin', girl? Thought I tol' ye not to undo them straps?"

"I didn't run. That has to count for something."

He ran his hand through his hair with a fierce groan. "We gon' go on a little field trip. Get up."

Cheyenne tried to wobble to her feet. She had all the grace and stamina of a new born calf. Her ankles caved in on her shortly after she managed to work herself to her hands and feet and she fell flat on her face in the dirt. Mac chuckled and grabbed the nape of her neck, tangling his hands in her greasy, knotted hair. "Ain't got all day."

"I'm playing along, you can fucking let up." She grumbled as he began dragging her limp frame down the hall. "Where are we going?"

"That's fer me ta know, and you to wait an' find out." He growled.

They made it outside and Cheyenne's eyes dilated to pinpoints at her first glimpse of the sun in what had to be days. She winced and covered her naked breasts with her hands as Mac easily flung her into the side of his truck.

"Put this on." He threw a black, floral sundress at her as she slid down the burning red body of his beat up old truck. She managed to hold it up and squinted, recognizing the material instantly. "Well? Come on, now!" He insisted, kicking her numb leg.

She gathered the material into a loop and pulled it over her head, slipping her hands through the spaghetti straps and smoothing it down her exhausted, malnourished frame. The cotton clung to her withering curves without accentuating her skeletal appearance.

"Git in the truck." He muttered, walking around the front of the vehicle and getting in. He dug something from the glove compartment and she watched him snort a dusty white powder from the corner of her eye as she used the truck for leverage and maneuvered her way up to her legs and managed to work the door open so she could heave herself beside him. When she took too long, he grabbed her arm and tugged her in the rest of the way until she whimpered and collapsed in the seat.

Mac wasted no time starting his truck and speeding through the field to the main road, heading in the direction of home.

* * *

Mac flung the truck in park and cut the engine. Cheyenne sat up straighter, looking around as a large, feral looking German Sheppard mix leapt and attacked her window. She squealed and flew back into the head rest of her seat as the mutt snapped and growled, practically foaming at the mouth, daring her to just open the door.

"Hey!" Mac shouted, kicking the dog. It whimpered and quickly retreated, trotting backwards and lying on his stomach, head balanced on his flat paws, begging for forgiveness from his relentless master. "S'more like it." He grumbled.

He flung the passenger's door open and grabbed Cheyenne's arm, pulling her from the truck like a ragdoll. Her legs still weren't working and she fell to her knees before Mac sauntered to the house. Her knees skidded through the dirt and rocks, ripping flesh from muscle and exposing her sensitive inner tissues. She clawed at his arm, but he acted as though he didn't notice.

"What the fuck, Mac?" Cheyenne cried as he flung open the door. He lifted her tiny body with one strong arm and threw her into the doorway. She crumpled on the linoleum floor with a sickening crack and looked at her surroundings weakly.

"Honey! I'm home!" Mac laughed, shutting the door behind him and walking over Cheyenne, completely unphased by her.

A set of feet appeared in front of Cheyenne's eyes and she followed the legs upward until her eyes connected with a similar pair, sheathed beneath wispy light brown bangs. She gasped in disbelief just before everything went black.

* * *

**If you are reading this, I encourage you to leave a review. The more feedback I get, the more likely I am to update frequently. **

**Also, I need a few fresh murder and smut ideas. Please leave a review or PM me if you can jog my creativity! **

**Love you all! **


	9. Criminal Minds

**I know this one is choppy, I kind of hate that, but it's the only way it made sense to write. It's also short, but it has a lot of information in it to explain everything up until this point. I really wanted to reveal everything but none of this seemed to fit into a chapter. **

**Since it's not a real 'chapter', no warning or introductory quote is necessary. **

**Can't wait to see what you have to say about this one. ;)**

* * *

"_I hope you guys are being safe. Have you made it to Utah yet?" Cheyenne asked, blatantly concerned. _

"_Not yet, _mom_." Taylor snickered. "We're just outside of Vegas. We should be in Utah in the next hour or two." _

"_Well, call me at your next stop."_

"_I know, I know. You're doing nothing but worry." _

"_Well, I've never let you do anything like this before. I understand it doesn't seem like a holiday with mom and dad gone…" _

"_Yeah. I'm sorry I left you alone for Easter, but I _really_ wanted to go with Kayla." _

"_I know. You're still young. You deserve to have some fun every once in a while."_

"_Yeah, and you're just a big ol' wet blanket." Taylor laughed. _

"_Thanks. Just be careful, you know? I love you." _

"_Yeah, love you too, Chey." _

* * *

"_Hello?" Cheyenne picked up the receiver and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. _

"_Is this Cheyenne?" _

"_Yeah, who's this?" _

"_This is Laurie, Kayla's mom. I didn't mean to bother you. I was just wondering if you heard from the girls." _

"_Not since last night." She muttered, sitting upright in bed. "I figured her phone had died." _

"_I don't want to worry you, but they haven't made it here yet." _

"_What?" She gasped. _

"_I've been calling their phones, but they both go straight to voicemail. I'm starting to be concerned." _

"_No, no. I'm glad you called. You're right to be concerned. Do you think maybe we should call authorities?" _

"_Maybe it's best if we wait until morning?" _

_Cheyenne sighed, knowing the woman was right. "Yeah, it has to be at least twenty four hours." _

* * *

_The phone call Cheyenne received last night couldn't be traced. Authorities were searching every city from Las Vegas to Salt Lake City. There was no sign of the girls. No one had seen them since Henderson, NV. _

_It seemed as though they had hit a dead end. _

_"Local authorities are on the lookout for two teenage girls in the Utah area. One, Kayla Melton; age 19, blonde hair, green eyes, believed to be traveling with her roommate: one Taylor Matthews; age 19, light brown hair, hazel eyes. The two were traveling from the University of Southern California to Salt Lake City driving a dark blue Volks Wagen Jetta. If you have any information, please call your local authorities." The news caster said. _

_Cheyenne cut off the television broadcast and allowed herself to cry. _

_She should be there, helping to search for her little sister and her friend. She knew they were in trouble, she knew they were lost and scared, but there was nothing she could do. _

_She had no clue where they were. _

* * *

_The Volks Wagen was located somewhere outside of Saint George. _

_The FBI informed her that the car was totaled. It appeared as though the girls got into an accident. The entire hood was smashed in, the headlights and windows were smashed. The airbags had deployed in the impact. _

_There was blood covering the steering wheel, but other than that, no sign of the girls. _

"_We're outside of Cainville. It's the only town near this side of the highway. This isn't the first time we've come out here. Those canyons are brutal. People go missing all the time. Girls probably hit a deer or something, went wandering for help. Lord knows we barely have cell reception out here. Probably went looking for a gas station or something. There's a garage by the highway. We'll go check it out, see if they saw anything." _

"_Thanks, detective." Cheyenne managed to choke out the words. _

"_Of course, miss Matthews. Try to get some rest. We'll let you know what happens." _


	10. Line in the Sand

**I figured I needed to explain the last "chapter" a bit better since I still got questions. It was supposed to be this sort of clairvoyant moment, like at the end of the **_**Saw**_** movies where it shows flashbacks and clips of things you've already seen to pinpoint things you probably didn't notice to lead up to the big reveal. It was pretty much a test to see who was paying attention to all of my stories.**

**If you're still wondering who Taylor is, I suggest re-reading **_**Behind Bars**_**. **

**This is purposefully short. I started part 3 to **_**Collision Repair**_** and got stuck, so I decided to keep following the Mac muse to work on this chapter. It's really hard for me to get my mind around the whole Stockholm syndrome thing. I'm not sure how this worked out, so I kind of quit writing to see what you guys thought before I go much further. **

**Please leave reviews and comments so I can figure out what to do next! **

**This story contains content of a graphic nature that includes adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, rape, illicit sex acts, BDSM, murder, and mutilation. Not for those with weak stomachs or the faint of heart.**

* * *

"Revenge is Always Sweet, it's the Aftertaste that's Bitter."  
― Joshua Caleb

* * *

Cheyenne opened her eyes and all she saw was darkness. She slowly adjusted to the lack of light and realized she was lying on a worn couch in a tiny room with nothing else but an old television. Something was tentatively touching her foot. She adjusted herself to look and screamed and kicked with her foot when she noticed the large spider making it's way to her ankle.

"You're up." A quiet, familiar voice said. A body appeared at the door frame and Cheyenne sat up straight, facing the person behind the voice.

"Taylor." She whispered.

She walked into the room, her gait limping and pained. She was wearing a short baby doll dress, pale pink in color, with eyelet lace trim. She looked like a porcelain doll from a sick horror movie. "Master will be home soon. Don't worry."

"What?" Cheyenne watched her closely, obviously confused. "Mac? Where's Mac?"

"Master has important things to tend to. He always comes back. Don't worry."

"Who is 'Master?' Taylor, where's Kayla?"

"Kayla didn't make it. She fell onto the hook. There was blood. So much blood." Taylor began to sob.

Cheyenne got up, suddenly aware of the pain in her legs as they supported her full weight. She winced. "Taylor, we need to leave."

"Master won't let me leave." She whispered. She maneuvered her leg to show her sister her ankle. It was scarred in a vertical line along her Achilles heal. Suddenly, the limping was explained. "He needs me to stay here."

"Sweetie, we aren't safe here."

"Master always keeps me safe. He'll keep you safe, too. I asked him to keep you."

"Taylor, I can't stay. We can't stay. I'm going to get you out of here."

"Master won't be happy if we leave."

"Fuck master! He isn't your master!"

Flood lights filled the living room, gleaming through the windows and illuminating the entire space. The loud, clambering engine of Mac's truck clanked and roared one last time before shutting off quickly and quietly.

"He's home." Taylor squealed, jumping forward and running in a pained gait to the door.

Cheyenne heard the telltale padding of Mac's boots against the hard ground and visibly shuddered. She sat up straighter on the couch and watched her little sister wait obediently, like a faithful pet on its owner. The entire idea was sickening.

She heard Mac curse loudly, kicking and slamming, loud banging noises of blunt objects on metal as the engine started on the generator outside. It sputtered to life, the lights in the house along with it.

Mac's boots clanked on the wooden stairs and then the door knob turned slowly.

The door opened and Mac slipped inside, his hand closing around Taylor's tiny neck and pressing her entire body against the doorway. He slammed the door shut and his lips pressed angry and fierce to Taylor's.

Cheyenne began stunned, but quickly found her courage, and jumped up, fighting the pain riddling her body to latch onto Mac's shoulders and pull him back from her baby sister.

He was wrenched from Taylor's kiss and back handed the older Matthews girl to the hard, wooden floor. "Fuckin' bitch!" He spat.

Taylor put her tiny hand on his arm, the one he had used to strike her sister down. Mac's eyes met hers and his face softened. He quickly forgot the crumpled figure at his feet, now clutching her bruising cheek, and turned his attention to the faithful little pet of his. He touched her cheek tentatively and held her face in place. "Power been out long?"

"Not very. Maybe an hour." She bit her lip and watched him closely. "I missed you." She sighed. She leaned up on her tip toes to kiss his scruffy, dirty cheek. "Would you like anything?"

"Git me a beer, pet." He released her and turned around to stare at Cheyenne, a wicked grin plastered on his face. "An' fix dinner. We got a guest tonight."

* * *

"Mac's not bad, sissy. He takes good care of me." Taylor said as she filled a large pot with water.

Cheyenne noted how long it had been since her sister had called her that. It had to have been since they were children. "I never go hungry. He buys me nice clothes." She droned on and on about her life here with Mac. "I take care of the house, do the cooking and the cleaning. He satisfies me."

Cheyenne shuddered at that comment. She hated the idea of Mac putting his hands on her once innocent little sister. "Is that why you're limping?" She scoffed sarcastically.

Taylor paused, standing completely still, her back to her older sibling at the sink. "I've disobeyed master a few times. I learned better." Cheyenne gasped, getting a good look at the scar on her ankle. "You don't run." Taylor whispered, carrying the full pot to the stove.

Cheyenne glanced over her shoulder. She couldn't see where Mac had gone and knew that she should avoid private conversation as long as he was around the house.

She was becoming painfully aware that she was no longer going to be able to have a rational conversation with her little sister. She was going to have to come up with a new plan of escape.

"What are you making?" She asked, watching Taylor pull things from the shelves.

"Spaghetti." She sounded more cheery, looking over her shoulder to her sister.

"Does Mac like spaghetti?" Cheyenne scoffed.

"Master doesn't eat much."

"Oh?"

"He stays up a lot, too. He's very troubled." Taylor's voice was so empathetic. Cheyenne wondered how anyone could feel empathy for someone so brutal and disturbed. "Poor thing." She whispered.

Cheyenne bit her lip. Her head was swimming with all of this information as she tried to calculate just how she was going to pull off her daring escape. "Yeah... poor thing."


	11. Overkill

**MaddyMarie1212:** I decided to wait to address your question publicly because I thought it was a good topic to discuss. Mac likes both girls, but for different reasons. He broke Taylor and she's hopelessly devoted to him. He's kept her around and was able to train her, so he loves her for that. There's obviously a history between them. He is intrigued by Cheyenne for the opposite reason; she isn't broken. She's completely still coherent and of sound mind. She's willing to fight back and that offers Mac the challenge he's missing from Taylor. Taylor sees the pained side of Mac and sympathizes where as Cheyenne sees him as a psychopath, but is still drawn to him in a sick sort of way. Overall, Mac is intrigued by the idea of possessing both sisters as his 'pets.' Hope this helps! :)

**You know the drill by now. If you aren't used to seeing this warning in your Mac fiction, you've been reading the wrong stuff. This story contains content of a graphic nature that includes adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, illicit sex acts, BDSM, murder, and mutilation. Not for those with weak stomachs or the faint of heart.**

* * *

"But men often mistake killing and revenge for justice. They seldom have the stomach for justice."

- Robert Jordan

* * *

"Isn't this nice?" Mac snickered. "Like one big, happy family." He walked through the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge.

Taylor and Cheyenne picked at their food, sitting across from each other at the table. They were both starving, but they couldn't bring them selves to eat more than a few forkfuls of pasta.

"Think ye had enough." Mac growled. He struck Taylor's plate, sending the contents to the floor as the plate shattered against it.

Taylor did nothing but whimper as she stared at the mess on the floor.

"Well? Go on! Clean it up!" He shoved Taylor with enough force to send her to her knees on the floor. She began to cry as she picked up broken ceramic pieces.

"Mac! That's enough!" Cheyenne stood up, defensively. She went to grab the trash can by the door in an attempt to help her little sister, but Mac grabbed her wrist.

"Play time starts now."

He pulled Cheyenne down the hall and into his bedroom, throwing her to the mattress on the floor before slamming the door. The bed was made, but the room had little other redeeming qualities. She let out a slight squeak as Mac kicked her legs open.

"Now, ye gon' be good? It'll be easier if ye don't fight." He grunted, undoing his belt. She tried to squirm away as he fell to his knees between her legs, but he grabbed her hips and pulled her thighs up over his own. "Then again, s'more fun when ye do."

She clawed and gripped at Mac's wrists, breaking skin with her fingernails. It didn't hinder Mac's rough actions. He shoved her dress up her thighs and exposed her throbbing wet pussy to his hungry eyes. He gripped at her tighter, shoving his thick length into her in one swift, fluid motion. She cried out at the sudden intrusion and the abrupt fullness Mac's cock had caused.

He snickered, relishing in the feel of her, loving every noise she made. He pulled back with his hips and slid back in, to the hilt this time. "Fuck, ye might even be tighter than yer little sister." He growled, plowing into her again, full force.

Cheyenne screamed and punched at his chest, trying in vain to push him off of her.

Annoyed, Mac grabbed her wrists and pinned her down. His teeth brushed against her lower lip before sinking in, drawing blood and causing her to scream, loud and guttural. "Ye don't settle down, we gonna have ta do this with little sister." He hissed in her ear. "Don't want that, do ye?"

That calmed Cheyenne down. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to remove herself from the room, picturing herself back at the motel room.

Her eyes focused as Mac leaned into her, the placement of her thighs over his sent her feet in the air, her thighs now digging into her stomach with her knees near Mac's broad, muscled shoulders.

Cheyenne tried to focus on the drawings around the room: all spiders drawn in pencil. Some looked more like cyclones, others more evidentially with eight legs.

Mac leaned into her chest, finding her nipples quickly through the thin material of her sun dress and biting down on them, one-by-one. Despite herself, Cheyenne moaned. She felt Mac's smile fade into a smirk around the tight, sensitive flesh of her breast.

The sensation and deep penetrating angle of Mac's twitching dick sent Cheyenne over the edge. She cried out, a raspy, loud cry, shuddering and convulsing around Mac's prominent, pulsing erection.

She sobbed, trying to catch her breath and ignore the burning shame she felt at allowing Mac to get to her and, more disturbingly, allowing him to get her off.

"Y'ain't fuckin' done." Mac grunted, still pounding into her, relentlessly. She was helpless at this point. Her powerful orgasm left her feeling used and useless. "Nasty little fuckin' slut." Mac heaved, straining to speak between ragged thrusts. "Just like yer little sister." He smirked, knowing he'd set her off again.

Cheyenne growled, deep in her throat. The growl broke into a shrill screech and she jerked up, fighting to pull from his body as he hovered over her, still bent in half. She was helpless at this angle, her own legs bent over so she could practically touch her ankles. Despite her discomfort, she lashed out, clawing Mac's face, leaving three distinct trails of blood down over his left eye, trailing just over his chiseled cheekbone.

Mac howled, much like a wolf during a full moon. The pain mixed with his pleasure and he came in hot spurts inside of Cheyenne's hot, pulsing confines.

Mac rolled off of her and hopped up to his feet. The rip of his zipper signaled to Cheyenne her torment was over. Her legs fell back down and she pressed her palms to her eyes, pressing until she saw circles.

She didn't hear him leave, only felt the bed shift under light weight a few minutes later as she cried silent tears.

"Are you okay?" Taylor whispered, stroking her sister's hair.

Shame finally sunk in and Cheyenne jumped up to a sitting position, straightening out her dress to cover her exposed areas.

"Master needs help, Taylor." Cheyenne shuddered, biting her lower lip and smearing tears across her cheeks.

"It's always bad the first time." Taylor sighed rubbing Cheyenne's back in an attempt to comfort her. "It gets easier."


	12. Life's a Bitch

**Before we get into the actual story, I wanted to ask opinions on something. I had a few ideas for Mac stories running through my mind, and I was wondering what I should work on first. Of course, I want this to get finished. Honestly, this story is coming to a close soon. I want to get my ideas straight so I don't end up going on hiatus.**

1.) A companion to this story and _Behind Bars_ that follows Taylor and her journey to Stockholm syndrome. Honestly, this one scares me the most and wouldn't be very long. I know after _Behind Bars_, people expressed interest in what happened to Taylor.

2.)A sequel to _Collision Repair_. The idea in my head follows the plot of the movie and WILL NOT BE ALTERED. I have a clear-cut idea for that story and I think it's very different and clever, though not exactly the norm for a Mac story.

**Really, I'm interested in what people want to see more, though I am planning on doing both. If you care, please PM me or respond in a review letting me know what you'd rather see. **

**Anyway, onto the real reason you all are here. MAC. I wanted to get a little bit ahead since I won't be able to do a lot this week, so here we go. **

**As expected, this story contains content of a graphic nature that includes adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, illicit sex acts, BDSM, murder, and mutilation. Not for those with weak stomachs or the faint of heart.**

* * *

"Justice is about making them pay for [her] pain. Revenge is making them pay for yours."  
― Erica O'Rourke, _Torn_

* * *

The heat in Utah was merciless. Even with the fans running, it did little to quell the profuse sweating that had the Matthews sisters practically fused together in their sleep. Their limbs were tangled, sweat causing their bare skin to cling to one another in a confusing web of body parts on the makeshift bed in Mac's room.

Cheyenne was the first to rouse when the door to Mac's truck slammed shut and the engine roared to life outside. She was still on edge from the night before. She wasn't sure whether she was more disturbed by what happened to her, or that she had been aroused by it.

She tried to pull herself from her baby sister gently, but nudged too roughly and woke the younger Matthews sibling as well. Cheyenne crossed the room to the shabby window and watched Mac speed away.

"Master?" Taylor whimpered.

"He's gone." Cheyenne replied. She wasn't sure where he was going, or long he'd be gone, but she was sure of one thing: she wasn't going to be around long enough to find out.

In the distance, she could make out what looked like a small house. It was probably a mile in the opposite direction of which Mac drove. If she could make it there, she might be able to get help.

"Taylor, is Mac usually gone all day?"

The girl nodded slowly. "Sometimes more than that."

"Good. Taylor, we're going to see if we can go find help."

"Master won't be happy. I can't get punished again. I won't be punished again." She resolved quietly.

"Shit." Cheyenne swore, remembering Taylor's ankle injury. The girl wouldn't be able to make it the mile to the house. "Taylor. I'm going to figure this out. You have to stay here." She took a deep breath, thinking out her options. "If I don't come back before Mac does, I want you to fight, okay? Can you do that?"

"Fight master?"

"Yes, sweetie, he's not safe. What he's doing isn't right. I want you to promise me that if I don't come back, you'll fight. Go out fighting."

Taylor stared back, wide-eyed. Slowly, realization crept across her face and she nodded. "Fight." She repeated. She remained emotionless.

"I'm coming back. We're going to make it out." Cheyenne said, trying to convince herself more so than Taylor. She clutched her sister close, kissing her forehead, and crying enough for the both of them

Cheyenne made it out the door before the German Sheppard started snarling and snapping. It took her a moment to realize he was behind the fence, though he was coming dangerously close to jumping the fence. Cautiously, Cheyenne kept walking, slowly making her way around the pen. The dog only became louder and more persistent. He began digging his way out.

Cheyenne tried to remain calm. If she ran, it would only anger the dog more, give him another reason to feel provoked, fuel his rabid fire.

If the dog wasn't the least of her problems, she quickly realized that shoes should have been on her top list of priorities. The red clay beneath her feet was like coals, boiling hot from the desert sun. The rocks and pebbles clawed at her feet. She hadn't made it a quarter of the way before her feet began to bleed.

* * *

She was thirsty. Dangerously so. Her feet caked with blood and dirt. Her dress, soaked in sweat, clung to her entire body. Add into account the scabs on her knees and multiple bruises. She was a mess.

The house was mere yards in front of her. To her dismay, it looked abandoned. She had hoped that looks were deceiving. She still had hope.

She climbed the stairs to the porch. Her feet screamed at the change in texture beneath them. The cool, smooth wood seemed painful in itself, but her feet only recalled the boiling insistent sting of the desert.

She slammed on the door, screaming and pleading for mercy. Her throat gave in, her voice cracked, and her mouth became very dry before she conceived that the house was in fact abandoned. The door, of course, was locked.

Despite herself, she decided not to give up on her last sprig of hope. She searched the ground, finding a handful sized rock. She clambered to grasp it, making a fist around the hard mass and tossing it through the window without second thought.

She hoisted herself into the window, cutting her palms on broken glass. She fell on the way over, collapsing on the shards of window on the floor. This small pain was the least of her concerns.

The house hadn't been lived in for months. The house was, however, fully furnished. Though, sardonically, she wished they had hired a new interior designer. The house was stuck in another decade. A thick coating of dust covered all of the pieces in the room. The eerie air of the home gave her the creeps. She pulled herself up and the first thing she sought was water. She ran greedily to the kitchen, jerking the faucet knob. The pipes screeched loudly, longing to produce the sweet life sustenance, but nothing came out. "Fuck!" She screamed, angrily pounding the counter top. Next, she checked the fridge. The refrigerator was empty, but had power. With water out of the question, her mind wandered to other necessities.

She found the first phone she had seen in days. Eagerly, she picked it up. No dial tone. She found a flashlight in a side table, carrying that along just in case. She saw a block of knives in the kitchen, but she wanted a more long range weapon. She needed a gun. She checked typical hiding places; the bedside table, the box under the bed. The shelves in the bedroom closet. No gun.

She had almost given up when she noticed a door she hadn't checked behind, just beyond the front door. There, just beside a round-point shovel, leaned a shot gun. Without hesitation, she took the rifle.

She needed a way out. Her feet wouldn't make it the mile back to Mac's house. She would be delirious with dehydration by then, as well. She needed a quick getaway. She recalled noticing a storage building in the yard briefly before her nervous breakdown at the door.

Getting into the shed wasn't as hard as it was to get into the house. She found the key by the kitchen door as well as a menagerie of other small keys, obviously not to a car. She took them all. This was her last resort.

Once the storage facility door creaked open, Cheyenne found the reason for those odd keys: a series of dirt bikes and ATVs, parked in a line in the garage. For the first time all day, her luck seemed to be turning round. That was, until, she heard Mac's guard dog snarling behind her.


	13. You Better Run

**I could come up with a million excuses for this being so late, but basically it boils down to life being hectic and little to no motivation. I won't bore you with the details, just know I am so sorry for keeping you guys waiting. Retrograde is finally over, so maybe I can get back on track. **

**As bittersweet as it is, I realized as I wrote this that this is the end. I thought it best to end on lucky number 13. I wasn't sure how I would end this or when, but this is just how it played out in my head. It came out very much like a movie, so that's the way it went, typical theatrical finale. I definitely used this story to take out all of my frustrations. **

**Also, on a happier note, I'm excited to inform you all that the sequel to **_**Collision Repair**_** won! If all goes well, it will be posted as soon as I work out the kinks, so keep your eyes peeled for that! **

**I am still planning on doing a Stockholm syndrome story about Taylor, it's just pushed to the further corners of my mind, for the time being. Stockholm is one of those phenomena that I just cannot wrap my head around. That's exactly why I think it's important that I push myself by trying to write it. When I do, I plan to delve more into what happens in the end of this story. **

**Shout out to Annabeth's tumblr that inspires so much of the sex in my stories, this chapter included. Demented minds think alike. ;)**

**Additional love to Alva Starr for her continued support and good vibes. Thanks, babe! **

**I hope you all aren't disappointed in the ending. Let me know what you think! **

**In normal Mac story form, typical warnings apply. This story contains graphic material including: foul language, rape, mutilation, murder, and general Mac-ness.**

* * *

"When you begin a journey of revenge, start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself."  
― Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes

* * *

As though there was an invisible force field at the door to the shed, the snarling canine stopped inexplicably. He crouched, haunches flared, growling with his teeth bared at the young woman before him. If Cheyenne didn't know any better, she would think that the mutt took a page from his master's handbook and stopped only to taunt her, to heighten her level of fear.

They stood, opposing each other, in silence for what felt like minutes. A shiver of fear tingled its way up from Cheyenne's feet to her brain stem and she realized it was time to react.

The shot gun tucked comfortably in the crook of her arm, she was able to prime the pump in the few seconds she had before the beast struck, leaping at her chest and sending her fragile body sailing backwards onto the hard concrete floor. His teeth broke the skin on her arm and he aggressively shook his head back and forth, breaking skin and ripping her brachioradialis and flexor carpi to shreds. She screamed, the sound more shrill and gritty than she was used to in her distressed and dehydrated state.

Instinctively, she pulled away, making the tears to her lower arm even worse. The shot gun lay, primed and ready, by her side. She reached out with her free hand, grabbing the barrel. With what sanity she had left, she perched the shot gun on her stomach, angling up and working her hand down the stock to the trigger. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, squeezing gently. The shot gun kicked back, sliding across the floor and out of her grasp as the dogs chest imploded with a strangled yelp. Blood and guts sprayed to the wall of the shed, splattering on a dirt bike and a few boxes on the side of the shed as

Cheyenne fought the surging pain in her arm, trying to calm her heart rate as adrenaline pumped its way through her body at a steady pace. She pushed the dog's body up and off of her chest. She was now not only coated in dried blood and scabs encrusted with dirt from her own body, but thoroughly soaked with the sustaining liquid of Mac's rabid attack dog.

The woman struggled to stand, the canine's blood dripping down her legs from the saturated dress. She wiped what she could from her hands onto the sundress and shook her head free from its dangerous thoughts. _Taylor._ She had to get to Taylor.

She took a panicked look around the shed, setting her gaze on a larger ATV on the farther side of the building. It was big enough for two. She hastily scooped up a handful of keys she had since dropped on the floor and rushed to the four wheeler, testing keys until one fit in the ignition. The engine roared to life for a glorious thirty seconds before sputtering and shutting off completely. _Gas. _She needed gas.

Her eyes spun around the room, looking for a spare canister, anything. There were shelves along the back wall. She hobbled her way to that wall, pushing items out of the way, hoping to find anything she could use. She saw a buck knife, placing it greedily by the flashlight and shotgun at her feet. She moved boxes, throwing tools and meaningless junk out of the way, tossing it to the floor behind her. She rummaged through more boxes in the corner. There, in the midst of the chaos surrounding her, Cheyenne found a metal jug of liquid. Slowly, carefully, hopefully, she twisted the cap and inhaled the sweet smell of ethanol. _Gasoline._

Urgently, she opened the tank on the ATV and poured the liquid into the vehicle until the dripping sound stopped and the canister was dry. She had hoped it was enough.

She tried the key again and the engine purred back to life, idling in the shed, waiting for a rider. Cheyenne wasted no time getting on the back of the four wheeler, shot gun, knife, and flashlight in hand as she depressed the rear brake and shifted the gears by her foot. She pressed the throttle by her thumb and sped her way back to Mac's.

* * *

Taylor sat nimbly on the edge of Mac's stoop as the ATV pulled to the shack. "He got loose." She said quietly, not meeting her sister's eyes. She seemed unphased by Cheyenne's appearance.

"Don't worry about him." Cheyenne rasped. "Get all your stuff." She instructed, pushing past her sister on the stoop to run in the house and straight to the kitchen. At the faucet, she splashed her face clean before drinking straight from the tap, guzzling the water down until her stomach ached. Behind her, Taylor was packing her baby doll dresses into a small duffel bag she found in the closet. She came to the kitchen and quietly handed her sister a hand towel. "Thanks."

"Is that master's?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cheyenne didn't have to ask. She knew she meant the blood. "No, sweetie. It's not master's."

She nodded quietly as Cheyenne wiped some dust and blood off of her face, chest and arms. She didn't bother going further down, it didn't make any sense to waste more time. She grabbed Taylor's wrist and drug her through the house and to the four wheeler outside. The sun had begun setting already and they were running out of time. "Put these in there." Cheyenne handed her little sister the flashlight and knife, choosing to keep the gun across the handle bars of the ATV, just in case. She only had two rounds left and had to make them count.

"Do you know where we're going?" Cheyenne asked, feeling stupid immediately afterwards. Taylor shook her head no. Of course she didn't have any sense of direction.

The only good thing about this barren wasteland was that you could clearly see for miles. They would be able to spot Mac's truck in the desert. Unfortunately, Cheyenne didn't think the four wheeler would be able to out run Mac. The Matthews sisters mounted the ATV, the younger behind her older counter part. She held onto the mounting bars just behind her.

They chose to drive in the opposite direction of the house she had just raided. It didn't seem like anything else was in that direction. Anything was better than staying here, even if it lead them right to the monster.

* * *

It was dark. The desert air became painfully cold. The thought crossed Cheyenne's mind that Mac knew exactly what he was doing, leaving the girls with no shoes and only baby doll dresses to cover their bodies.

For what felt like hours, Cheyenne and Taylor had been spinning in circles. Each canyon, hill, and plateau looked the same. The rock formations surrounding them all looked like duplicates of each other.

The chill in the air was beginning to be too much. Cheyenne felt Taylor shiver behind her. They were running out of options.

She spotted the cow pasture to her left. She actually recognized where she was! The cavern Mac had held her in was just beyond that shaky fence, maybe a mile away. She spotted his truck just outside of the door. A shiver, not from the cold, trailed up her spine and she pressed the throttle harder, lurching past the cave in the distance.

She rounded another plateau, using it to cut through the desert. The four wheeler slowed before sputtering to a stop. They were out of gas.

"What are you doing?" Taylor whispered. She hadn't stopped looking over her shoulder the whole time. "He's coming, you have to go!" She urged, hitting her sister's shoulder.

"We can't go any farther. There's no more gas." Cheyenne said, her voice harsh with reason.

Taylor pushed herself back, falling off the vehicle and kicking herself away. "We're gonna die out here." Her voice broke in her distress.

"No, stop it! We're not!" Cheyenne warned. She got herself off the ATV and paced back and forth. "Mac still doesn't know we're gone. Even when he finds out, it would take him at least a few hours to find us out here." She thought, aloud.

"Master's smart. He'll find me."

"No, Taylor. Please!" She tried to calm her crying sister, her natural instincts outweighing her fear. "We have to ditch the bike." She said, assuredly. As much as it pained her swollen, bleeding feet, she needed to make it out of this.

They walked what felt like miles. In actuality, they only made it about half a mile to the end of the plateau. There was a cluster of rocks to their right that they were now clutching each other in. They found no solace, no warmth. Only each other.

In the distance, clear as the dark desert sky, they heard a blasting boom. An explosion.

Cheyenne pulled herself from Taylor's grip, peaking out of the rock formation enough to spot a blazing fire in the near distance. The ATV had blown up.

"He's here." Taylor whispered.

Cheyenne had almost convinced herself that the four wheeler had somehow spontaneously combusted when she was pulled by her hair over the rocks and thrust on the hard ground of the plateau. "Think yer so fuckin' smart, huh?" Mac spat. Cheyenne's hand came up to her hair, feeling where a sizeable clump used to be attached at the roots to her scalp. "Think ye got one over on ol' Mac?" His boot connected with her ribs again.

She was sure they were broken now. She coughed out a burst of air and used what little strength she had left to try and crawl away. Her eyes connected with Taylor's through the rock formations behind Mac's looming form. The younger Matthews girl quickly looked away, releasing a slight keening noise that Mac's keen ears did not miss. "Really think ye could take 'er away?" He growled. Cheyenne perched on her upper arms, trying to will herself up but the back of Mac's hand connected painfully with her cheek and sent her spiraling back down to the red clay beneath them. "Think this bitch needs ta be put back in 'er place, right pet?" He cast a glance towards Taylor. The girl cowered beneath the rocks and was lost to them both. "Knees, bitch!" He smacked her again before dropped to his knees and pinning her hips in place.

He bent her battered, broken body to his liking, sending her to her knees and pushing her head into the dirt. She kneeled before him like a repentant whore in church. He pushed her nose into the dirt with one hand while working her sundress up with his other, baring her bare ass and back for him. "Gonna fuck y'into place, bitch. Let ye know who's boss out 'ere." He growled. She heard the buttons of his coveralls pop just before she felt the head of his cock push against her ass cheeks. All she could do was cower and cry. He body was too tired and worn to put up any more fight while his large hand clamped around her dainty neck.

His legs spread apart as far as they could in his coveralls, dick erect and nudging her folds apart as he plunged himself into her, hitting her inner confines with force and purpose. "Still so fuckin' wet. Gonna bust ye wide open. So fuckin' nasty." Mac kept muttering to himself as he pumped himself into her wet, warm channel.

There was a sudden slight gurgling followed by a spray of warm, now familiar liquid across Cheyenne's bare back as the hand on her throat softened at all movement stopped. Cheyenne chanced a look over her shoulder as Mac took his last breaths, choking on his own blood as it bubbled in his throat. Behind him, Taylor held the buck knife in her bloody hands.

Cheyenne kicked herself away just before Mac fell over, using his last bit of strength to reach out and grasp at her again.

"I had to. I had to do it. I'm sorry. I had to." Taylor kept murmuring. She threw the knife at her feet and began staring at her hands. "Oh God, oh God!" She screamed, blood curdling and shrill. "I had to do it." She smeared the blood on her dress and never stopped crying.

"Taylor! Taylor!" Her sister yelled. "You did the right thing!"

The girl nodded slowly. "I can't leave him! I won't leave!"

"Taylor! You did the right thing! We have to get away! We can't stay!" She grabbed her bloody hand and drug her from the plateau, searching the desert for Mac's truck.

* * *

Walter woke early to clean the public restrooms before lunch prep at the Luna Mesa. His ears perked up when he heard the sound of that worthless son of his. His truck creaked to a stop outside of the garage and flung into park. He could see everything from the open door as he stood on the porch.

The girl's exited the truck. They were drenched in blood. He cruelly thought that it was undoubtedly Mac's blood. Arlene's fucking useless brat finally got what was coming to him.

They opened the door to the garage and disappeared inside. Beyond the doors they found Cheyenne's SUV with the busted radiator on the ground beside it. In the backseat were all of the Cheyenne's possessions. The hood on the car was raised. She peered in and was surprised to see the new radiator had been installed. Mac had probably been planning on driving her SUV somewhere to get rid of the evidence.

They found the keys on Mac's messy desk. Cheyenne climbed in the driver's seat, starting the engine. She looked to her younger sister and nodded for her to join in the passenger's seat. Slowly, quietly, Taylor got into the car.

As soon as they shut their doors, Cheyenne put the truck in reverse and headed out of the garage, turning around in the parking lot and passing the Luna Mesa on the way to the highway, her middle finger raised out the window at the old bandito on the porch.

As quick as they could, they got out of Cainville. Together, the Matthews sisters escaped.


End file.
